


She's Almost You

by grandfatherclock



Series: Half-Seconds at a Time [9]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23290819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandfatherclock/pseuds/grandfatherclock
Summary: Ocean air stings against his lungs.They’re all sitting by the beach, and Caleb’s black fingers stretch over by the flames, controlling them under the careful movement of his hands. He dulls the fieriness for a moment, and Fjord stares at Caduceus’s hands beside Caleb’s, holding an ornate and intricately designed tea kettle as Caleb sets the flames to the right intensity, the intensity Caduceus likes for his tea. Pink hair glitters, lit so beautifully the fire almost rewrites it into orange, and Fjord knows he’s staring, knows he shouldn’t, knows he’s stupid and useless and his heart is thudding too fast and he doesn’t really know, he doesn’t.He doesn’t know why his face is so warm.
Relationships: Caduceus Clay/Fjord
Series: Half-Seconds at a Time [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1526909
Comments: 11
Kudos: 64





	She's Almost You

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was fjorclay and the Hozier lyric _She's almost you_ <3 <3 <3

Ocean air stings against his lungs.

They’re all sitting by the beach, and Caleb’s black fingers stretch over by the flames, controlling them under the careful movement of his hands. He dulls the fieriness for a moment, and Fjord stares at Caduceus’s hands beside Caleb’s, holding an ornate and intricately designed tea kettle as Caleb sets the flames to the right intensity, the intensity Caduceus likes for his tea. Pink hair glitters, lit so beautifully the fire almost rewrites it into orange, and Fjord knows he’s staring, knows he shouldn’t, knows he’s stupid and useless and his heart is thudding too fast and he doesn’t really know, he doesn’t.

He doesn’t know why his face is so warm.

He knows his irises are widening into themselves, the usual slits that he knows people find alienating— _foreign_ , he thinks, something uncomfortable welling in his gut, _delectable_ , certain words dripping out of certain tongues, some of them against the crisp morning air and some of them against flushing, bruised verdant skin—open like a cat’s. It’s something he could control, but he doesn’t want to, just like he doesn’t want to shave the hair that’s falling past his forehead, longer than what he would normally allow.

He doesn’t know why his _thank you_ is stammered as Caduceus hands him a cup of tea. It’s warm in his hands, the porcelain delicate, and it’s so nice. This is so nice.The steam swirls up from the cup, and Fjord can feel the rush of heat as he raises it in his palms, the warmth permeating his skin as he swallows and feels the taste of ginger against his tongue.

“You’re smiling,” Caduceus says, and he’s leaning closer. For a moment Fjord wonders if Caduceus is about to lean into him, and his heart stutters rather uselessly, in tune with the movement of his throat as he swallows the tea. The warmth permeates down, loosening his tense vocal chords, and for a moment Fjord swears he’s made of warmth, made of the tinge of ginger that follows with Caduceus’s tea.

It’s not a bad feeling. Fjord finds himself almost greedily pulling his cup back up for a second sip, chasing the sensation once more. The night glitters over them, like the blankets full of Jester’s crumbs when she eats in bed. “ _Yeah_ , I’m smiling,” Fjord retorts, not thinking about the madness of drinking tea in the middle of the night, camping out on a beach. His gut is starting to squirm and he doesn’t enjoy the feeling. “This is a real fine beverage, Caduceus.”

“Glad you like it.” Caduceus’s voice is a rumble. His voice is so deep it’s almost cavernous, the way one might sound deep in a dungeon as they traverse for loot and various unfortunate creatures waiting to kill them. But dungeons are cold, dungeons are dangerous, and Caduceus’s voice is… safety made complete. Completeness made perfect. “It’s a new blend I’m trying, real good for the voice, you know—“

“Ah, yes,” Fjord says, and he’s too enthusiastic, he always is when Caduceus talks and Fjord has an inkling of a way to relate to him. So much of him is of another world—Caduceus, a man from a chosen, historical— _special_ , he thinks, and it’s not bitter, and it’s not jealous, he’s grown a little too much for it to be jealous or bitter, it’s mostly just awe—family. Lineage. Legacy. “The vocal cords, I felt that, the ginger really _hit_.” 

“I’m glad,” Caduceus says, and Fjord watches him take a long, slow deliberate sip of his own tea. Fjord’s gut sinks in tandem with his movement. Caduceus really only does that when he’s letting someone else prepare for whatever mind- _fuck_ of a question he’s going to ask, and Fjord finds himself staring at his own bare feet against white sand, green against the graininess around him, as he waits for the words to enunciate themselves in a deep, caring timbre. “You look uncomfortable,” Caduceus finally says, and he’s reaching around his waist to wrap his robes more tightly around him. Fjord finds himself gazing at the way the silk stretches along his side for a moment too long, and takes another sip to distract himself from that, all of _that_.

“Uncomfortable,” Fjord repeats, and he’s grown up a little too much to fall into his first instinct, which is to deny, deny, always deny. When Vandren would say that— _you look tired, boy_ —it was this challenge, but it’s not a challenge here, hasn’t been for a while.

He bites into his lower lip, and considers the sensation of his tusk against the inside of his mouth. “Yeah, uh.” He lowers his voice. “You weren’t here when we first talked but… you know how I don’t have the most sexual experience?” Caduceus blinks, and Fjord raises his hands. “ _Trust_ me, this is going somewhere related to your, ah. Inquiry.”

Caduceus leans back, and he smiles at Fjord’s flushing face. “I believe you,” he says.

Fjord doesn’t know why it makes him flush further. Or maybe he’s still a damned liar, but it’s only to himself now. “I met her on this beach, and we… well, we fucked in a cabin that’s not far from here. And it’s just… strange, I suppose.” Caduceus stares at him evenly, guessing correctly there’s more, and Fjord winces, because there is always more, isn’t there? Especially when it comes to back then, and all the lies he paraded like a too-colourful coat. “It was the first time I ever tested out using Vandren’s accent.” A pause. “She liked listening to me, and then we… you know.” He makes an awkward gesture with his hands.

“All the way in Urukaxl,” Caduceus says, and he raises his eyebrows. “You know, the chances of seeing her here are… infinitesimal.” He says that last word uncertainly, like he’s not quite positive on the meaning, and Fjord knows Caleb used it the other day, knows Caduceus likes picking up on words that the Mighty Nein tosses out, floppy ears perking when he particularly likes the sound of it.

“I know,” Fjord says, because he does.

“But it’s okay,” Caduceus says, and his voice is firm, this kind of protective in the furrow of his pink eyebrows that makes Fjord look down at his tea once more, because _fuck_ if it isn’t a lot, _fuck_ if it isn’t hard to take, hard to accept, hard to reject.

“I know,” Fjord repeats. There’s something else dancing on his tongue, something he wants to say but can’t, or can’t say because he wants to say it. Something about how her voice was deep, and honeyed, and layered, and how she was tall, taller than Fjord. How she made him feel small in a way that was good, in a way that was kind, and… and…

_She’s almost you, Caduceus, she’s almost—_

“More tea?” Caduceus asks, looking at Fjord.

Fjord realizes he just drained Caduceus’s tea. His mouth feels molten, too hot, and he can’t bring himself to hate the sting of it. “Please.”


End file.
